Scandinavian

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While I was shopping for Barbara’s birthday present, my online research branched off into a tangential research project.

Scandinavian cooking classes.

To be specific, I was looking for Swedish cooking classes.

How do I make those tasty meatballs, is what I want to know.

So there I am, looking for Scandinavian cooking classes (I missed one on November 3rd in Reno by the Daughters of Norway), when I stumble across a resource for Nordic/Baltic goods and services in the Bay Area.

Woot!

On the list, there are a number of Swedish-owned wineries, breweries, and glögg makers.

And just like that, I created a trip for me and The Swede to go on – a tour of Swedish wineries:

  • Field Vineyards
  • Garden Creek Vinyards
  • Gustafson Family Vineyards
  • Sjoeblom Winery
  • Soil & Soul Wines
  • West Wines

Voilá!

Of course my plan does require The Swede to actually PACK A BAG and COME TO CALIFORNIA.

But when he does, I have a wine outing to take him on.

 

 

 

Don’t laugh

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….at least don’t laugh harder than me!The lingerie I ordered online arrived in the mail just in time to mock my single status. If you could anthropomorphize a chemise or pee-a-boo babydoll, they would be sticking their tongues out at me, crossing their eyes, and yelling “neener neener neener!”

Here’s a snapshot of the lingerie (and red glitter heels which match my Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz outfit):

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And this is what made me laugh so hard I almost cried. My uber-gorgeous lingerie with matching microscopic thongs (WTF!!!) didn’t come in wrapping paper. Or tissue. Or little silk bags like I get at the lingerie shop downtown.

No…. my lingerie came in BOXES! At first, I wondered why the hell they were sending me pornos!!!

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So, FYI….Trashy.com for lingerie. You can find it all.

Long time, no Swede

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It’s true.

I haven’t seen The Swede since I visited him in Stockholm over the holiday break.

We still keep in touch.

He called me on my birthday.

I talked to him 4 days later when it was his turn to celebrate a birthday.

Right now he’s in Barcelona at a trade convention.

He invited me to “celebrate our birthdays together” in Barcelona but I wasn’t able to pull off a last minute trip to Spain.

Not enough vacation time.

I’m trying though.

There’s nothing I’d like more than to spend another holiday break in Sweden, hanging with The Swede and his daughter, trying to learn Swedish, drinking glogg, and “cheating” at Monopoly.

I use the term “cheat” loosely because I prefer to think of it as “redistributing my wealth.”

I miss The Swede and I’m hoping he comes to California again to visit.

There’s a small possibility that he’ll be here with his daughter for the holiday break.

I’m trying not to think about it because if I do, I start planning out all the places I want to take them and all the activities I want to do with them.

San Francisco, Santa Cruz, Half Moon Bay, Monterey. . .

There’s SO MUCH TO DO and they need to COME TO CALIFORNIA so I can fulfill my desire to be their tour guide and show them all the places near and dear to my heart.

There’s so much that makes California a wonderful place to live.

And there’s people I need to introduce them to.

Just give me an excuse to plan and I’ll run away with it.

Long time, no Swede.

Micro brew

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Whenever I think of beer, I think of Benjamin’s Franklin’s oft quoted statement about beer:

I have a special affinity for beer since I’ve taken classes to learn how to make it.

Beermaking 101 and 102 – using the Steeped Grain and Whole Grain methods to beer making.

I took these classes close to 2 years ago but I have yet to attempt beer making myself.

Why, you ask?

Because I don’t know how to scale down a recipe to a manageable stovetop size.

In my class we brewed close to 30 gallons of beer at a time, an amount which would require me to buy a TON of EXPENSIVE gear.

I simply can’t afford to invest that much money in a hobby which encourages me to drink liquid bread.

I’d rather just go out to Bierhaus or The Halford and DRINK THEIR BEER.

So I have recently joined a MeetUp group dedicated to beer lovers.

Instead of MAKING beer, we just go to pubs and drink their beer.

I am thinking, and correct me if I’m wrong, that maybe I’ll meet people who know how to brew beer in SMALL batches.

Perhaps it’s worth investing in a beer making kit, like this one from Amazon:

I could handle brewing a gallon of beer.

But also?

I know of a beer making supply store near me and I could go see if they have their own little kits for making beer in smaller batches.

I’d much rather get a kit (and advice) from a local business than Amazon’s mass-produced kits.

So one of my goals for 2019?

Brew beer and make friends.

What could be better?

 

Sexy scars

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About 5 years ago, I had surgery to fix an epigastric hernia, or as I like to call it, my alien.

Yes indeed, my guts were nearly popping out of my chest.

The doctor who fixed me was skilled at repairing hernias, but not so skilled at stitching up a woman who wants to be able to be seen naked without an angry, jagged, red scar.

Well, the redness has faded. But I still have a large, crooked scar across my abdomen.

Every time someone new sees me naked, his eyes are drawn to the scar and I find myself explaining how I gave birth to an alien (aka a hernia).

I’m a little sensitive about it, to say the least.

But the other day, I noticed a scar on my friend Rick’s chin. He walked through a glass door as a child.

And my sister has a scar on her forehead from when she went into a windshield on Thanksgiving Day during a car accident which thankfully wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

I have several other friends and relatives with c-section scars – a noble way to obtain a scar, in my opinion.

My mom has a large scar from where she had open heart surgery.

I have countless other tiny scars all over my body and each tells a story.

  • The time I stepped on a glass on the floor and nearly passed out.
  • The tiny mole I had removed from under my left eye.
  • The scar on my left palm that I got while trying to bake a homemade apple pie for my neighbor from scratch.

Each scar has a story. Each scar, when noticed, brings up memories of a past time.

I got to thinking that maybe scars aren’t as ugly as I once thought. Maybe they’re beautiful. Sexy, even. Lord knows I’ve enjoyed kissing all the scars on my ex-boyfriends. Scars hold part of our history. Our past. If our bodies are the rulers by which we measure our lives, the surely the scars are the units that we use as a guide.

So last week, when I was relaxing at home, instead of covering my scar, I grabbed a red pen and. . .

This is how I started to love my scar.

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Outrageous

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I voted.

I can’t remember the last time I skipped voting.

I think it’s important to make my voice and opinions heard, regardless of whether or not I’m a huge fan of the candidates, measures, or propositions.

This is not a political blog.

I don’t write about my political beliefs, although I do occasionally let my distaste for certain politicians be known.

I have a few friends who have a different political persuasion than me.

And honestly, I have found that NOT DISCUSSING POLITICS is the best way to stay friends.

But sometimes I JUST HAVE TO SAY SOMETHING.

And for that, I don’t apologize.

I have at least one friend who is to some degree a Trump supporter.

The other day he posted on his Facebook page that he was never going to watch Saturday Night Live again because a cast member made a joke about veterans.

I think the joke was in poor taste and missed its mark.

I don’t watch SNL nor do I plan to.

However, I found it HUGELY ironic that my friend felt this was worthy of a boycott while still supporting a man who joked about sexually assaulting women.

Grab them by the pussy.

It’s just locker room talk.

Totally excusable.

But heaven forbid someone make a bad joke about veterans.

I’m not excusing the veteran joke.

It was a bad joke and other castmates have spoken out against it.

However, if you’re going to get outraged about things people say, then I think that outrage over someone bragging about sexually assaulting women is not misplaced.

If we generously ASSUME Trump was making a joke, I personally think both “jokes “are distasteful and worthy of my spite.

Just saying.

Me at 18

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I’ve been thinking about age a lot.

Especially since I had my birthday last week and turned 45.

I’m not going to lie.

I feel like I’m getting better the older I get.

I spend less time making EVERYTHING about myself and more time enjoying my family and friends.

I’ve learned to mellow out and relax instead of getting uptight about everything.

For the most part I don’t pretend to be something I’m not.

Although I will, on occasion, emphasize all my stellar qualities and attributes.

Like when I’m trying to impress a guy.

I’m glad I’m no longer 18 years old.

But damn, 18 was a GOOD YEAR!

Here I am at 18, graduating high school with my sister.

And all dressed up going out with friends (probably 19 years old in this picture).

At 17 years old, posing for my Junior Prom with my date.

And here I am with friends at the top of Half Dome.

It’s crazy to think of how the years have passed by in the blink of an eye.

But there you have it.

Me at 18.

 

None of this is safe for work

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I’m not entirely sure how I found out about bawdy storytelling.

It all started with Richard Cheese (aka Dick Cheese) who my sister introduced me to one day.

Admittedly, he is less bawdy and more lounge singer. . .

Then my fondness for inappropriate lyrics expanded with Rachel Lark.

I think it was my friend Dante who clued me in to the bawdy songstress.

I listened to her songs and laughed my ass off, listening to the graphic lyrics of ‘Warm, Bloody and Tender.’

And I was lucky enough to see her play at Dustfish at Burning Man.

I’m only too happy to share my love of bawdy storytelling with new friends I make.

And the other day, I got into a bawdy storytelling war with my new friend Nathan.

He saw me my Rachel Lark and raised me one Steven Lynch.

Have you heard his song about a gerbil?

Oh God!

You’ll blush but you’ll laugh.

I brought up Garfunkel and Oates.

Who hasn’t heard ‘The Blowjob Song’ or ‘The Loophole’?

Of course, none of these songs are appropriate and you must come back and listen to them when you’re in the privacy of your own home.

None of this is safe for work.

Bring on the holidays!

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Now that it’s OFFICIALLY after Halloween I can focus on Christmas!

Woot!

I LOVE fall.

Nothing better.

Indian summer stretches into fall and we all enjoy cool mornings, crisp nights, and sunny days.

I just want to brag about some of the gifts I bought for my family.

I found a company that makes custom bifold iPhone cases so I whipped up some family photos for my mom so that she could have all her lovely children and grandchildren smiling at her from her phone.

Thank you Lasting Impressions for the perfect gift for my mom.

Her current bifold case is falling apart.

For my sister, a little sass:

Because nothing says “I’ve got attitude” like a mug with the F-Bomb on it.

For my nephews, who I have dubbed “The Littles,” I started a tradition of getting them a Christmas ornament with the Halloween costumes they wore earlier that year.

Calvin was the Grim Reaper and Milo was Venom.

I managed to find Calvin’s costume on Zazzle:

And Milo’s costume on etsy, customization pending.

I’m still debating on what to get them for their gifts.  The ornaments are simply a little extra gift I like to give to The Littles.

I can imagine my brother and sister-in-law’s Christmas tree when the boys are older, filled with memories of Halloween and Christmases past.

Welcome to my fall-loving, Christmas-obsessed season of joy!